I'm sitting on the lip of the tub, shaving my legs in my bra and cotton shorts, when I hear a knock at the bathroom door. "Yeah?" I say, furrowing my eyebrows.
"Your boyfriend's here," Izzie says, peeking her head in. "Should I tell him you're busy?"
"No..." I say, sighing. "I have to get it over with sometime. He can come up."
She nods and disappears, and soon her light footsteps on the stairs are replaced with Jackson's heavy ones. It's only a few seconds later that he appears and pushes open the door to join me in the small, steamy room.
"Hey, baby," he says, wrapping both arms around my chest and burying his face in my neck to kiss me there.
"Hi," I say, rinsing the razor. "What's going on?"
"I just got off work and I missed you," he says.
"I've been texting you," I say. "Is your phone dead again?"
"Yeah," he says. "Since last night."
"Hmm," I say.
"I'm here now, though," he says. "What were you texting me about?"
I shake my head and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. "Just that we need to talk. I... there's something."
I don't have to look at him to know that he's frowning. "What is it?" he asks, then laughs nervously. "You're freaking me out."
"I know..." I say. "I'm sorry."
"Wait," he says. "Am I right to be freaked out?"
"No," I say, then swipe the shave gel off my legs and watch it swirl down the drain. "We just need to talk."
"Okay," he says, standing up as I do. "I'm listening."
"Let's go into my room," I say, slipping the hoodie back on that I'd been wearing earlier - it's his hoodie, actually.
I lead the way down the hall and Izzie catches my eye with a sympathetic expression from where she's sitting on her bed.
"Something's weird," Jackson says, crossing his arms as he stands awkwardly in the middle of the room.
I shut the door and head to my bed. "Will you sit?" I say.
He shakes his head. "Just say what you're gonna say."
I take a deep breath and sigh it out. I glance around my room, at the packed suitcase, bare walls, and empty closet. I'm moving to Chicago in a week, all the way from Seattle, and life will be so different. I never thought transferring schools would be a reality for me, but there's so much at the University of Chicago that I just can't turn down. It excites me more than Seattle University does. I need to be there.
Everyone knows that I'm leaving soon - in three days. Izzie knows, and someone is moving in to take over my portion of the lease next weekend. My parents know. Jackson knows, too.
More than anyone else, I know. The information has been sitting heavy with me, and I need to make changes that coincide with it.
"I think we should take a break," I say. The words feel like acid as I say them. I don't want to be saying them. But I have to, because I know it's the right thing.
"What?" Jackson says. His eyebrows knit together and he looks shocked. I thought he knew what was coming, but I guess I was wrong.
"I'm gonna be so far away," I say.
"So, two years of us just means shit suddenly?" he says, narrowing his eyes. "This makes no sense. Where is this coming from?"
"I don't want us to hurt each other while I'm gone," I say.
"How would I hurt you?" he says. "And how are you not hurting me by doing this?"
"You never call or text!" I say. "Your phone is always dead. You really think that's gonna change when I'm two thousand miles away?"
"Yeah," he says.
"No, it wouldn't," I say.
He rubs the bridge of his nose, then pinches his eyes tightly closed. With a shake of his head, he says, "Whatever, dude."
"Dude?" I say, standing up. "Whatever?"
"Yeah, whatever," he says. "Let's break up. I don't care, either."
"Jackson, come on," I say. "It's not that I don't care. It's the exact opposite. I want us to be-"
"No, it's cool," he says. "I want my hoodie back, though."
I recoil and say, "The one I'm literally wearing?"
"Yeah," he says. "It's mine. I want it."
"You're being really petty."
"It's my hoodie, April," he says, extending his hand. "I'd like it back, please."
"Oh, my gosh," I say, rolling my eyes. I tear the hoodie off and hand it over, and he crumples it into a ball to hold it under his armpit.
"Thanks," he says.
We don't say anything for a moment - a long, awkward moment - we just stare at each other. "Can we kiss goodbye?" I ask.
"Nah," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Safe trip, I guess."
Then, he leaves. I stand there and watch his back as he opens my bedroom door and heads down the stairs. It's only when I hear the front door shut that I start to cry.
...
Chicago is beautiful, but I've never been this lonely. I know a transitional period is to be expected, but I find myself wanting more than anything to call Jackson for comfort.
Then, I remind myself that even if we were together, he probably wouldn't pick up. So, instead, I call Izzie.
"Hey, sweetie," she says. "How's the Windy City?"
I glance out the window of my new apartment and let out a long sigh. "Snowy," I say. "Cold. Lonely. Miserable."
"Oh," Izzie says, with a sympathetic chuckle. "Things will get better, I'm sure."
We talk for a little while about what's been going on in the past two weeks since I've been gone, and what my classes are like. Once that's over with, she veers into new territory.
"So, have you been on Twitter lately?" she asks.
"No... why?" I say.
"Well..." she says, trailing off. "Jackson's... kind of... been in his feelings."
"What does that mean?" I ask.
She groans, then laughs a little. "Just go look for yourself. It's a lot."
"Alright," I say. "God."
"Want me to stay on the phone while you do it?" she asks.
"No, I'm fine," I say. "But... have you seen him at all?"
"Yeah, I saw him coming out of Murphy apartments," she says. "He..."
"He what?" I ask.
"He didn't look very good," she says.
"Not good, like what?" I say.
"Just go look at his tweets, and you'll see what I mean," she says.
"Is he okay?" I ask, my stomach twisting with nerves now.
"He's fine, I think," she says. "Just look at his tweets and you'll get it."
"Okay..." I say, blinking hard. I don't want Jackson to be upset or in pain. I don't want him to do anything stupid, either. "Okay, I'm gonna go look now."
I hang up the phone and click on Twitter, then search for Jackson's profile. I don't have to scroll down far to find the tweets that Izzie was referencing.
feeling like absolute shit bro
i miss her like hell man jesus christ whats even the point
why did i ask for my hoodie back like that god im a fuck im a FUCK
just wanna call her
not gonna call her
im such a piece of shit. i didnt even fight her on it. fucking ass
I feel my lips turn down in an exaggerated frown. I hate that he's feeling like this, but it's also somewhat of a relief - because I haven't been feeling all too great myself.
I regret what I did. We were together for two years. It wasn't right. I shouldn't have broken things off like that. Maybe we wouldn't work long distance, but we should have at least tried.
I keep reading.
who let me look thru my camera roll FUCK
her cute little face her cute nose her cheeks her eyes stop stop stop
WHY DIDNT I KISS HER
i need to shut the fuck up for real
I can't read anymore. It's upsetting me too much.
I can't let him go on like this, and I can't let myself go on like this, either. I debate picking up the phone but, knowing him, he probably tweeted all that on his computer and his phone is dead, like usual.
So, I get in the car and head to the airport. It's Thursday, anyway, and I don't have class again until Monday.
...
It's raining hard when my Uber pulls up to the Murphy apartments, so I pull my hood up and book it to the front door. I bolster myself and press the button to buzz Jackson's apartment, and a long beat passes before anything happens.
Then, finally, something does. "Yeah?" I hear.
It's him. I smile just hearing his voice. Why did I ever leave him? And why did I leave him the way I did?
My dad left my mom and my sisters when I was little. I never thought it affected me that much, but maybe this was me leaving Jackson before he could leave me.
It was stupid. Jackson, thankfully, is not my father.
"Hey," I say, pressing down the button to talk. "It's me."
"April?" he says. His voice is crackly with static, but I can still hear the shock laced through it.
"Yeah," I say. I start to cry; I can't help it. "Can I come up?"
"What are you doing here?" he asks.
"I messed up!" I shout, raising my voice over the rain. "I really messed up."
"Did you fly in all the way from Chicago?"
"Yes," I say, "and it's really pouring out here. Could you open the door?"
I hear a loud buzz, then the sound of the front door coming unlocked. I hurry through it and head to the elevator, where I wring out my hair and do my best to shake off my soaked jacket.
Once I reach the 7th floor, Jackson is standing outside of his apartment. "What are you doing, April?" he asks. "Come on. Get in here. You're freaking drenched."
With my arms wrapped around myself, I hustle into his warm apartment. He helps me out of my jacket and lays it over the radiator, then digs around in his front closet for a moment. When he comes out, he's holding a hoodie. The hoodie.
"Here, put this on," he says. "You're gonna get hypothermia. Your lips are blue."
"Thanks," I say, then strip off all my wet gear in the entryway. I pull on the sweatshirt and sigh once I do; the warmth and coziness of it is nearly euphoric after the weather I'd been standing in.
"Here," he says, then hands me a pair of sweatpants. "They're mine, so... too big, but your legs must be freezing, too."
I nod and change into them, then give him a settled smile. "Better," I say.
"Yeah?" he says. I nod. "So... what the hell are you doing?"
"I saw your tweets," I say.
"Fuck," he mutters, leading the way into the living room. "I thought I had my shit set to private."
"Nope," I say. He sits on the couch, but I stay standing. "Baby, I'm really sorry," I say. "I acted stupid and split us up because I thought there was no other choice. I just... I ran. I didn't try, I ran. And I don't wanna do that to you, or to us."
He leans his head back on the couch and mutters, "My tweets were pathetic."
"No, they weren't," I say. "They were honest. You're braver than me."
"No, I'm not," he says. "You moved across the damn country."
"That's not brave," I say. "I left my favorite person behind. That's the least brave I could be."
He looks down and shrugs one shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," I say, then shuffle a little closer.
He looks up. "You here for good, then?" he asks. "Or are you going back?"
"I'm going back," I say. "But... if you want to, I want you to move with me. If you don't, I get it, and I still wanna be with you. We'll do everything we can. The flight wasn't even that long, and the drive is-"
"No," he says, and his eyes are so much brighter. "I want that."
"You want Chicago?" I ask.
He opens his arms and invites me onto his lap, and I readily accept. I curl against him, my legs tucked to my chest, and rest my head in the crook of his neck.
"Chicago doesn't matter to me," he says, patting my butt with one hand and squeezing me closer with the other. "But you do. It's you, April. It's you that I want."